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Waikato Times, Volume XXXII, Issue 2605, 23 March 1889, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XXIV.—A Terrible Conflict.

The great physician's opinion coincided with that of his less famous brother. There was no hope for the child. Organic weakness could not be overcome, and the issue was only a question of clays. Joan heard the verdict calmly—she had schooled herself to hear and bear the worst, at what cost she alone knew. It was as if her very heart-strings were rent asunder when she thought of the empty cot, the silent nursery, when only a memory of its clear occupant should remain. While the physician talked, Mrs Angus noted her husband's ghastly paleness, but attributed it to the pain caused by the final extinction of hope. He had been so fond and proud of the child, loving to trace in the sweet face a resemblance to the still dear mother, loving, too, to speak of the future of his firstborn son ; and now it was all at an end, so far as an earthly career was concerned. When the two gentlemen left the nursery Joan Angus knelt down, by her baby's cot and hid her aching head on the pillow beside the golden one, which was now too utterly prostrated even to stir. In these brief, sharp moments of agony she gave him up ; and when she rose her face was more serene than it had been, and there was less of anguish in the depth of the sweet, serious eyes. She wondered a little why Robert had left her so long- alone, but perhaps he, too, would bo solitary awhile until the first pang was past. She would not seek him yet, At last, howevei - , yearning for his sympathy, she stole down to the lower rooms, seeking him in the diningroom, library, and study, but he was not to be found.

" The master has gone out, ma'am," said Kitty, meeting her mistress in the hall, now guessing whom she sought. " Did he say when he would be back, Kitty ?" " No, ma'am," said the girl, and lingered a little, as if she would fain ask a question. At last it came in a sudden burst of tears. " Oh, ma'am, would you please tell mo what the doctor said ? "We are all so anxious in the kitchen. We love baby so." ,; We will have to part with him very soon, Kitty," said Mrs Angus, and extended her hand, which the girl elapsed in both her own and kissed it. That little action, so expressive of sympathy and lovo, did the tried heart good. Meanwhile whore was Robert, Angus ? Why was he absent from his wife's side at such a time ? He walked down to the corner of the street with Sir Williarn, and, after parting from him, returned past his own door to the residence of Mr Christopher Harrington. He was admitted at once when he knocked, and shown into a small sitting-room, which Mr and Mrs Harrington often occupied when alone. Mabel was writing letters, and rose to greet him, exclaiming, at the change in him— "What is it, Mr Angus? Is baby worse? or Joan ill? You look terribly upset."

" I feel it. We have had Jenner to-day, and he says there is uo hope for the child," he said) vaguely, and, sitting down, looked in a mechanical, dazed way round the room. He had had an object in coming here, but he forgot for a moment whot it was. " And your poor wife. How does she bear it ?" " Better than T hoped. She was wonderfully calm," he answered, in the same mechanical, listless way. " Would you like me to go in and see her 1 I am afraid I could not be of much use. But I am ready if you think she would care to see me." I think it might be better to wait till to-morrow," he obliged himself to answer. "I thought I would come in and tell you. You have always been most kind." "But is Mrs Angus alone 1 !" queried Mabel. She could not understand Robert Aik'us to-night. Apparently the physician's verdict had upset him mentally as well as physically. She had never seen a man look more unlike himself. "Yes, but I am going in presently," he said, rising heavily to his feet. " So you have got your sister safely settled beside you, Mrs Harrington 1" " Only the breadth of the park between us," said Mabel, with a slight smile, wondering at the question. " She is quite well, I hope, and and her children I—there1 —there are three, 1 think V " Yes, three—dear children," answered Mabel, warmly. " Do they go to school with your boys, Mrs Harrington ?" " iSTo. Lucy brought a governess home with her from St. John's, you know," said Mabel, still further mystified. " I fancied I saw them to-day in Hyde Park; that is why I mentioned them at all," said Robert, recovering himself, and speaking with OiU. admirable assumption of indifierence. "There was a young lady

with them whom I fancied might be Lady Finch. "Was she tall and dark ?" " No, quite the opposite," said Robert Angus, hating himself for the part he was acting, but it was a matter of life or death to him. He must learn something about the governess who had come from Newfoundland with Lady Finch. " It must have been Mrs Burnett, their governess. You seem surprised to hear she had been married. She is only a girl V said Mabel Harrington. " Hers is quite a romantic story. She was the sole survivor of that terrible catastrophe which overtook the Sidonia some years ago. Perhaps you may remember it."

" Yes, I remember it," said Robert Angus, marvelling at his own calm. " Her husband, poor thing, was drowned, and it seems she has no friends in the world ! But, there, I must not keep you any longer. I daresay my sister will tell you the story herself. Both siie and the children are deeply attached to Mrs Burnett." "Yes, it is very interesting," said Roberc Angus. " Good morning, and thank you." " I have clone nothing to deserve thanks; I wish I could be of any use," said Mabel, sympathetically. " Tell Joan she is in all our thoughts, and that I will come in tomorrow morning." "Yes, I will tell her," said Eobert Angus, vaguely as before, and he walked away out of the house like a man in a dream. When he reached the street he paused irresolutely for a few minutes, as if not knowing where to turn. He thought of his wife sitting alone by the bedside of the dying child, wondering, perhaps, why he was absent from her, but, God help him, he could not go to her ! No, not yet. He turned his face westwards, and with his head drooping on his breast, mechanically threaded the quiet, unfrequented streets and squares which intervened between Cadogan-place and Hyde Park. When he reached the solitudes of the park he pushed his hat back from his brow, and let the cool night wind play upon his aching head. It was growing dark now, but the young February moon was peeping shyly up above the green tree tops, and in the soft spring sky many stars were shining. Peace, unutterable peace, seemed to be in the air, and tho din and roar of the city, softened by tho distance into a pleasant hum, only made the quiet seem doubly sweet. And yet, was it not a very mocking of his pain , ? He dropped at length into one of the seats under the spreading beeches, and, folding his arms across his chest* faced this terrible thing and tried to think it out. His formor wife, beyond a doubt, still lived, was even not a mile distant from him, and the woman whom he loved, and who had made happiness and home for him, was what ? Nothing ! No more in the eyes of the

law to him than one of the night waanders flitting about the streets of that great and evil city. He cursed the carelessness that had prevented him seeking a divorce from his faithless wife, and yet he smiled bitterly to himself, for what need had there been to file a petition for dissolution of the tie which death had already broken , ? A doubt, a fear that she might have survived the catastrophe had never, in his wildest dreams of imagination, occurred to him. The newspaper had so emphatically and repeatedly referred to the loss of all on board. Then there came into his heart a wild bitterness against her who, unwittingly perhaps, had wrought him this cruel wrong. He remembered her of yore —thoughtless, careless, giving no heed to the consequences of any action. Doubtless she had acted upon the impulse of the moment to conceal her rescue, knowing she had forfeited all claim upon kindred and friends. Even in his agony he was just. He believed that any idea of what the fatal consequences of her mistaken concealment might bring to

her former husband never occurred to her. But the mischief, nevertheless, was done —ay, the irrevocable evil which God alone knew how to cancel or mitigate, was wrought— and what remained 1 He groaned aloud when he thought of his wife, dearer to him than aught else on earth. What had his love brought her ? She was wont to say, lovingly, that it was the very sunshine of her heart, the greatest blessing of her life, and he had been glad to believe it. And now *? How could he go to her and tell her that she was not, and never had been, his wife ? How could he look into those wistful, startled eyes, and say that they must part; each to live henceforth a solitary blighted existence, bereft of all earthly happiness 1 And they had been so happy ! They had loved each other so well. As he sat there in the deepening night his awful agony did its work upon him, rending his heart and soul, and setting its cruel stamp upon his face. lie heard the clang of the city bells ; the solemn booming of St. Paul's seemed to him like the knell of death. He started when he counted the strokes at length to hear that it was nine o'clock. Nine o'clock, and it was four hours since he left home. Home, did he say? Nay, it was home no more. Henceforth, he must be a wanderer upon the face of the earth, without tie or love or kinship to sweeten the husks of life. What had he donej and, more,

what evil had his angel wife wrought that such a blow should fall on her in the very summer of her clays 1 As he dragged himself heavily to his feet, the tempter slipped behind aud whispered that there was a way out of the maze of horror and difficulty with which he was encompassed. One chance remained. He would see Amy Burnett, tell her of the desolation sho had created, and appeal to her to save Joan. He would provide her with sufficient means to leave the country or bury herself in the oblivion her sin deserved, and leave those she had wronged to such peace as they could enjoy. If she would consent, and he did not doubt that she would, Joan need never know. But, again, there was the nobler, more honourable course—to tell all to his wife, to part for a time, until he could be divorced from Amy Burnett, when they could be married again. But. then, what an opening of old wounds, what a revival of painful, darkest memories. How could he subject his sensitive, proud-souled wife to the ordeal of publicity ? How could he bear to see her name mentioned and freely commented upon in the pages of the scandal-loving Press ? It would kill Joan, whispered the tempter. The other was the better way. It was a terrible struggle. It seemed, as if the air was hushed in painful stillness, waiting for the victory. It is in such moments, when good and evil are trembling in the balance, that the angels hover near us, waiting to rejoice, or to hide their saddened heads when the temper conquers. The bells are chiming once more when Robert Angus turned away from the spot which had witnessed the keenest conflict in his life. Had he gained the victory? Ah, no; for the victor walks with head erect and buoyant step, conscious of the approval of his God. His step was hurried and fearful; his heart beat still, as if in shame, upon his breast, and the angels hid their faces over the fall of a righteous man. When he reached his own door again it was nearly eleven o'clock. He was obliged to ring, for in his haste that afternoon he had left his keys lying on his desk. Kitty opened the door, and looked unspeakably relieved to see him. " Oh, Mr Angus, sir, where have you been 1" she exclaimed, forgetful for once of her place. "My mistress has been nearly distracted. And— and " a burst of tears chocked her utterance. " I could not help it, girl," returned Mr Angus, in tones which Kitty had never heard before. " Where is your mistress 1" " In the nursery, sir, but—but—" "What?" "Oh, sir, after you left baby grew suddenly worse, and though we sent for Dr." Roberts, he could do nothing." " And is the child no easier yet V " No, sir ; at leas*, yes !" cried Kitty, in a burst of sobbing. "He is dead." {To be continued.)